Supreme Spouse System.-Chapter 140: The obsidian Ring

The obsidian Ring

They were courteous words, well said—though with an uncertainty neither the King nor Natasha was quite able to read. Amusement? Irony? A joke? Something, it flashed for only an instant in the air before they both let it go.

And then, after the pause had settled, Leon abruptly cleared his throat and spoke, "Ah, I apologize, Your Majesty."

The King’s cold stare cut to him, brows furrowing in puzzlement. "What are you apologizing for, Duke?"

Leon’s gaze met the King’s cold, questioning stare with unruffled smile, a brief, inscrutable smile pulling at his lips. "Your Majesty, I had brought you a gift. but in the commotion of my greeting and our discussion, I seem to have left it behind. Forgive me.

The King and Natasha did not say a word, but their eyes narrowed infinitesimally, suspicion for the space of a heartbeat—though the King did not so much as flinch towards looking away.

Leon’s eyes flickered to his side, then with a fluid movement of his wrist, he flipped his palm upwards. A soft sheen caught the light—his storage ring on his finger glimmered dully, as if an unseen doorway had opened.

And then, out of nowhere, a dainty velvet box appeared elegantly into his hand as if by magic, floating up towards him.

The room again became silent, the atmosphere became charged with tension as the King’s eyes rested on the surprise gift.

With his usual effortless elegance, Leon picked up the small velvet box and opened it gently on the shiny surface of the table in front of the King.

His serene smile never faltered as he spoke in a calculated tone, "Your Majesty, be gracious and accept a modest gift from your modest subject."

The King’s eyes rested on Leon for a while, seeming to try and read his intention—gauging the gesture in silence. Then, after a pause, he slowly moved his gaze from Leon’s face to the velvet box lying on the table in front of him. Without hesitation, he outstretched a hand and reached for it. Presents from subordinates were a commonplace, routine affair for him, so he registered no surprise and accepted it without saying anything.

Carefully cradling the box in one hand, the King employed his other hand with honed precision to lift the velvet case. Soft hinges cracked weakly, the lid opening to display the contents within.

Both the King and Natasha’s eyes grew a little wider in tandem as they observed what they were seeing content within the box.

Within the box, on black velvet as immaculate as the white belly of a snow leopard, rested an exquisite man’s ring—finespun and beyond question of reproduction.

The ring had been made from a deep obsidian metal that was rare, and appeared to suck the light out of the air around it, taking on an almost liquid sheen. Its band was wide but refined, engraved with fine, swirling patterns that were like the surging currents of a great river. Set into its center was a single, perfect sapphire, deep blue and softly glowing with a light from within, as if holding a shard of the night sky.

King’s gaze narrowed—not from appreciation of its loveliness, but from something quite different. As he senses a flicker of hidden mana danced in the air the instant the lid opened, too subtle for an untrained observer, but unmistakable to him.

Not loud, not forceful—only a whisper of energy coiled inside the artifact. A quiet hum, such as a breath suspended in holy space.

Natasha, sitting still beside him, sensed it as well. Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit, the change in her face imperceptible to most but Leon. They both gazed down at the ring, not as mere person examining a present, but as cultivators attuned to something much more elusive.

The King’s eyes rested on the ring for a lengthy interval, his fingers exploring ring in box just shy of touching. Then deliberately, slowly, he raised his gaze to catch Leon’s across the table.

Leon was already observing him—calm, serene, a slight smile playing on his lips. There was no victory, no pride. Only patient calm. It was the smile of a man who well knew what he had given and was waiting to determine if the other was aware.

The King said nothing, but the intent in his eyes was clear: What is this ring, really?

And Leon, knowing without the words, smiled faintly and replied. "Your Majesty," he whispered softly, "this is the Obsidian Ring. It’s not made in our kingdom — but it was made over the border—Skyfall Kingdom. Smithed by one of theirs finest master smiths, and enchanted under the advisement of a High Arcanist, one learned in deep magical theory."

Neither the King nor Natasha spoke. Their gazes stayed locked on Leon.

Leon’s smile never faltered as he went on. "But do not think this ring is just decorative. It is no bauble of court style—it possesses quite the uncommon talent."

A change crept through the air—something small but noticeable. For the first time since they had sat down to talk, the King’s countenance altered. His eyes flashed with interest.

Leon noticed it—and his smile grew wider.

Your Majesty," Leon replied, his tone steady and measured, "this ring has more than its share of beauty. It contains a hidden enchantment—though one that brings a shield of defense strong enough to repel a killing blow, even from a cultivator of Monarch rank. An uncommon protection. designed to keep life intact when it is most critical. I present it to you as a token of my devotion and respect.

A room sank in quiet silence fell once more, this time heavier.

Such defensive relics were rare—they were rare birds. In all the five Great Kingdoms, magical objects capable of genuine defensive enchantments were vanishingly rare. Most nobles might spend their entire lives pursuing such relics and never have one. Even the royal treasuries—though rich—kept merely a few. The King himself probably had not more than two.

And here it was—something that most would protect with their lives, presented flippantly over a highly polished table like a bauble.

But Leon—he just smiled.

Because all that he had just spouted... was a bluff.

The "Skyfall Kingdom" tale, the legendary magic scholar —all made up. A tidy little yarn spun to be believed. Not reality.frёeωebɳovel.com